


the gentle light that strays and vanishes

by blueh



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, M/M, Time Skips, Time Travel, Time Travel AU, Viktor is spelled with a K, i just love time traveling fics sue me, just let these poor kids be happy, pinning, thats all the deserve, then it got recommended as an angst fic and i was like, this story has been stuck in my head forever rip me, whoops, would u guys believe me if I said that this wasn't supposed to be an angsty fic, yuuri is spelled with two uus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-17 16:40:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9333722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueh/pseuds/blueh
Summary: An idea suddenly bursts into Yuuri’s mind as he looks down at his poodle-decorated phone. It was also not his current one—this one had been broken about a year ago after Viktor had dropped it into the toilet on accident.He hesitates, his finger hovering over the “on” button. Taking a deep break, he clicks it.He looks at the date, then promptly drops his phone.For on his home screen was not January 10th, 2019, but instead October 15, 2015.Eight weeks before the 2015 Sochi Grand Prix Final.also known as: that fic where Yuuri and Viktor go back in time separately, only to find each other again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [光之下，浮踪浪迹](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9471026) by [shikicross](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shikicross/pseuds/shikicross)



> GOD this has been in my head FOREVER. I haven't written a fanfic willingly for a LONG time, so this is kind of refreshing. I love time travel aus and while this wasn't exactly where I wanted to go with this story, it's good enough. I sat down and wrote the entire thing last night so this story is DONE. I just have to post the chapters. I'll be updating once a day! Theres only four chapters, though...if I stretch it. 
> 
> This is unbeta'd, whoops. Just me and my dyslexic eyes so sorry if there are any mistakes. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy it!! don't forget to leave kudos or comments!! ( ´﹀` )
> 
> This fic also has a chinese translation!: [光之下，浮踪浪迹](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9471026/chapters/21426590)  
> by shikicross

When Yuuri wakes up, it wasn’t to the room he was used to. He peels open his eyes, his head pounding, expecting to see the familiar blue ceiling of his shared apartment in St. Petersburg. However, what he got instead was a white wall with pieces chipped from age. Yuuri blinked—once, twice—desperately trying to remember what happened last night to land him in a situation where he wasn’t home. His head throbs and it felt as if someone where taking a knife and stabbing it repeatedly.

He groans, flipping over on his side. It was then that he noticed the other details. His bed was small, his sheets were too thin to keep him warm and the room was much too small to be his bedroom.

 _And most importantly_ , Yuuri thought with a sinking feeling in his gut, _there was no warm body sleeping peacefully next to him._

Yuuri blinks a few times, trying to clean the fog in his mind. It wasn’t uncommon for Viktor to get up before him, though the three years that he and Viktor had been married had taught him that Viktor definitely wasn’t a morning person. Yuuri gropes around for his glasses and hisses in pain when his hands connects with a bedside table that was much to close to be his own. Luckily, he was close enough to just be able to make out the blue rims of his glasses and hurriedly put them on, only to blink in confusion at the surrounding area.

It looked like a dorm room…a very, _very_ familiar dorm room. Yuuri’s eyes widen and he turned to face the wall behind him with barely masked horror.

For there, on top of the crumbling white plaster and food stains, were _hundreds_ of posters of Viktor Nikiforov. Hesitantly, he touches the corner of one to assure himself that, yes, this is real. This is happening. He doesn’t know how, but this was his dorm room in Detroit. There was no way it _couldn’t_ be.

“What . . .?” He wasn’t even able to get out a sentence before a groan from the other side of the room took all his attention. Yuuri jumps, not realizing that there was another person there.

Yuuri turns his attention to the other person, as they sit up. He doesn’t believe his eyes. “Phichit . . .?”

But no, this wasn’t Phichit. This person was much too young to be the Thai skater that had been his best friend since college. Though, something at the back of his mind urges Yuuri to look again because there was no way he _wasn’t_ Phichit. He had the same face, the same hair, the same voice.

The young-Phitchit glances at him, clearly groggy. “Yuuri what..?” It takes him a second to reach over and grab his smartphone before an inhuman screech comes from his mouth and he jumps out of bed as faster than Yuuri though possible. “OH _SHIT_! Yuuri! Yuuri we have practice! We’re going to be late! Ciao Ciao is going to kill us… Why didn’t you wake me up earlier— _WHY ARE YOU STILL IN BED_?”

The shout at the end startles Yuuri. Young-Phitchit is looking at him with such an incredulous expression that Yuuri shrinks into his skin a bit. Phitchit either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care as he grabs Yuuri’s hands and yanks him up, pushing him towards the closet before going back to gathering his own stuff. Yuuri stares at him for a few more seconds—long enough for Phichit to give him another look—before deciding that he’ll probably have to figure this out later. He turns his attention to the closet, grabbing his old skating sweats (Pitchit did mention practice, right?) and pulling them on.

By the time he was done, Phichit was already waiting by their dorm room door, scrolling through his phone impatiently. Yuuri grabs his old skating gear (how long had it been since he’s touched these skates? This bag?) and his phone before meeting Phichit. Phichit gives him a smile as if nothing had happened and the two of the head out into the chilly Detroit morning.

Phichit is chatting away at something that Yuuri isn’t quite listening to—too absorbed at looking around at the sights that he hasn’t seen for _years_ to actually understand what his friend is saying.

An idea suddenly bursts into Yuuri’s mind as he looks down at his poodle-decorated phone. It was also not his current one—this one had been broken about a year ago after Viktor had dropped in into the toilet on accident.

He hesitates, his finger hovering over the “on” button. Taking a deep break, he clicks it.

He looks at the date, then promptly drops his phone.

For on his home screen was not January 10th, 2019, but instead October 15, 2015.

Eight weeks before the 2015 Sochi Grand Prix Final.

 

* * *

  

They do manage to make to to the rink in time. Yuuri doesn’t know how, nor does he remember much of the trip after the phone incident. Phitchit had looked at him weirdly for a while after that, but had not tried to talk to him which Yuuri was grateful for. He didn’t know how ( _if_ , his mind corrects) he could explain what was happening right now.

Celestino greets them warmly, his hair still long and his eyes not quite as old. He was missing some wrinkles, yet he held the same kindness that Yuuri had known all those years ago. He gives them both a brief update and then tells them to warm up on the ice.

Phichit takes off immediately, talking to some others that were already skating figure eights around the rink. Yuuri stays a bit longer on the bench, looking down at his skates. Thousands of thoughts were swirling around in his head.

He briefly debates if this was all a joke, but dismisses the thought. None of his friends were committed enough or good enough actors to pull of a stunt like this. That didn’t account for his phone or their changes in appearance. It didn’t account for how Phichit looked at him like he was crazy when he asked for the date again and again.

Nothing made _sense_.

“Yuuri!” Celestino’s shout echoes across the rink. Other skaters pause to look at him. “Are you going to warm up?”

Panicking, Yuuri shouts back, “C—coming!” and ties his skates the rest of the way. He takes off his guards and takes to the ice.

It was soothing, in a way. The ice always was. But even now it felt new and unfamiliar. His body didn’t quite respond how he was used to. He felt slower, not as flexible. He knew he’d been lacking in his stretches recently, but Yakov usually kept him on his toes.

He quickly skates a few laps, lost in thought yet again. He knows something isn’t right, deep in his gut. Everything about this situation screamed _bad, bad, bad._ There was no logical way to explain this morning.

Time travel briefly filters across his thoughts, but he was as quick to dismiss that as he was this entire thing being a joke. Time travel is _impossible._ There’s no way that would happen.

Celestino calls all the skaters on the rink over, separating them into groups. Yuuri pauses and skates over with the rest of them. Some were to practice their Short Programs, while others worked on their Free Skates. A select few were sent off to work on something special, like footwork or jumps.

Yuuri considers himself lucky when he’s told to work on his jumps in the far corner. He skates away as fast as possible (though, he did hear Phitchit try and talk to him before he was pulled into a different group). He skates around in circles a few times before starting off with smaller jumps. Then he slowly transitions into his favorites—a triple axel, a double Lutz, a triple toe-loop. Even though he’s practiced them thousands of times, they feel _off._ He lands them shakily. Sometimes it takes more force than it should to push himself off the ice. He doesn’t fall, but he feels like he did.

The longer practice goes on, the more Yuuri thinks that the “time travel” thought might not be so far fetched. He doesn’t have any other explanation for what was happening. Everyone kept looking at him, whispering. Some ask how he improved so quickly.

Even though Yuuri’s jumps were sloppy at best, Celestino still came over and shouts praises. Sometimes the other students would chime in with agreement. He tries not to cringe—was he _really_ that bad when he was younger?

 He knows he’s not preforming his best. His half-hearted jumps and shaky step-sequences were not something that should have been praised. They are sloppy, sometimes under rotated, and he couldn’t land them without shaking. He almost trips on his feet a few times. Viktor would have—

_Viktor._

Viktor, who wasn’t here. Who didn’t know this happened. Viktor, who had been in bed with him last night whispering sweet nothing into his ear. His coach. His friend. His husband. His everything.

Oh, _god_. The thought made his stomach crawl. Viktor. Would he notice that Yuuri was gone? Did he come back in time with him? The questions swirl around his head like a miniature hurricane of thoughts. He doesn’t notice that there are other skaters on the ice until he crashes right into Phichit with enough force to send them both sprawling.

“I’m so sorry!” Yuuri bursts out, though Phichit just laughs.

“You seem really distracted today, Yuuri!” His friend helps him back to his feet when Yuuri didn’t make any move to get up. “The Grand Prix is in eight weeks. I know you’re nervous, but you’ll do great!”

That was another thing to worry about too. The 2015 Sochi Grand Prix was a complete and utter failure. He knows this. No one else does. He could fix it, of course, but he doesn’t know if he should. There are no time travel pamphlets for him to pick up and read. What if he fucks something up and destroys his future? What if he destroys time? That could happen, couldn’t it? He didn’t know.

“Yuuri!” Celestino calls him over and Yuuri obeys without a second thought. His body works almost robotically. Celestino grins at him and Yuuri sighs. If either of those were the case then, well, he’s already changed things. His future is no longer determined. Everything that happened—from Viktor to winning gold at the last GPF—none of that applies here. He stops, realizing that Celestino is talking to him.

“I’m sorry, what were you saying, Coach?” The word feels weird on his tongue. He hasn’t called anyone coach in a long time.

“You seem very distracted today, Yuuri. Are you sure you’re okay?” Yuuri nods and Celestino seems to think of that as an acceptable answer as he continues on. “As you know, the Grand Prix Final is in eight weeks. I want you to go through your Short Program and Free Skate for me so we can try and refine all of your jumps.”

Yuuri’s stomach sinks.  He doesn’t know how to respond. He should’ve expected this, really, but he didn’t.  He doesn’t remember either of those programs anymore. He blocked them from memory after the 2015 Grand Prix, thinking that would be the last time he would ever need to see them in his mind again. That came back to bite him in the ass, apparently.

So he panics. He darts off the ice, shouting “I feel sick! I’m going back to the dorm!” before ripping off his skates. He leaves before anyone can catch up to him.

 

* * *

 

The reality of his situation hits him as he’s sitting, curled up on his dorm bed. Everything that he’s worked hard for, everything that he’s fought to achieve in the last four years is gone. His friends are gone. His home is gone. His _husband is_ gone.

Yuuri _sobs._ He buries his face in his pillow and hopes that he suffocates.

How could fate be so _cruel_? To rip away everything he loved?

The emotions were too much. Too much, too much, _too much_ — he breaks down. There was no Viktor here to comfort him.

He hasn’t felt this bad since, well, the 2015 Grand Prix. Like all of his emotions just welled up inside and burst. It was all gone. All gone. And he didn’t know what to do. He was so, utterly lost.

“Viktor…” he cries out but his voice is barely above a whisper. He doesn’t look at his posters. Those were not Viktor. Not _his_ Viktor. “Where are you?”

 

* * *

 

He apologizes to Celestino a few days later. Phichit had come back to the dorm room worried, but Yuuri insisted he was fine even though he was definitely _not_. His break down hadn’t helped much; he was still confused and scared, but he had promised himself that he would make this work.

He had to.

He didn’t know whether or not Viktor had come with him back in time. If he had, he’d be in Russia. If he hadn’t…well, Yuuri didn’t know where he was then. Even if there was a _small_ chance that Viktor had come back with him, he had to let him know. Somehow. Some way. He had to let Viktor know that he _remembered_. That he remembered everything.

The idea comes to him a day after his break down. If he skates—truly, _actually_ skates—Viktor would have to know it was him. Yuuri thinks back to their first year and briefly wonders if he should skate Eros, but decides against it. Without Agape, Eros was missing something. Besides, it wasn’t as personal. Eros’ story was not his own.

That’s when he thinks about _Yuuri on Ice. Yuuri on Ice_ , which was about his life with Viktor. His love for Viktor. All the events that changed his life forever. _That_ was what he would skate. He would change his Free Skate for the GPF to _Yuuri on Ice_.

He contacts Phichit’s friend immediately. He meets with her and tells her his idea. He hummed the familiar tune as she furiously scribbles it down, telling him that it should be ready soon.

“I’m sorry for putting you on such a time crunch,” he apologizes, but she waves her off.

He tells his idea to Celestino soon after.

It didn’t go well, of course, but Yuuri expects that. It’s hard to tell your coach that you’re changing an entire program seven weeks before one of the biggest events in figure skating.

“Please,” he says, trying to get Celestino to hear the desperation in his voice. “Please let me skate this program.”

It takes time and a whole lot of convincing, but Celestino eventually lets him skate it. Phitchit’s friend gets back to him a few days later with the finished product and Yuuri almost kissed her with how happy he was. It sounded exactly as he remembered. Some nights he could stay up and just listen to it, reviewing the program in his head time after time.

The closer it gets to the GPF, the more anxious Yuuri gets, but for an entirely different reason than the firs time. In just a few short weeks, he would see Viktor again. He would know if Viktor remembers him.

Yuuri doesn’t know what he’ll do if Viktor doesn’t remember him. He doesn’t want to think about it. But the thought always comes crawling back up, as if it were a monster from the depths of hell. It makes his stomach sink and his knees weak.

Sometimes he would type in Viktor’s number, ready to send a message, but stops at the last moment.

Other times he would stare at the posters that decorate his room and point out all the things that were true. How Viktor’s eyes are blue but not _that_ blue. How he has a blemish on the side of his neck. How his hair sticks to his forehead when he’s sweaty after a program.

Yuuri would spend all night thrashing around in his bed as his life played before his eyes. From their first kiss, to his engagement, to winning the GPF. To all those moments that he and Viktor shared. The moments when he’d practice at the Russian ice rink with Yuri and Mila and Georgi and Yakov. It was too much.

Nights like those were the worst.

* * *

 

A few days before the Grand Prix, Yuuri says goodbye.

Phichit and a few other rink mates wave him off as he boards his place.

“Yuuri!” Phichit calls, grinning happily. “Get lots of pictures! We’ll be watching!”

A few others shout encouraging words like “Do your best!” or “I know you can do it!” or his personal favorite, “Bring back a medal for us!”

Yuuri sheds a few tears, happy that he has his friends at least. His time in the past hasn’t gotten any easier, but he’s come into terms with what’s happened. There was only one way to go and that was forward.

He texts his sister before he boards:

  _Please don’t let Vicchan out few the next few days. And watch for cars! -Yuuri_

On the plane, he talks to Celestino about his programs. After the first few weeks of trying to remember his Short Program, he thinks he’s got it down. Celestino still didn’t understand how he improved so much within a few weeks, but doesn’t question it. They talk about his Free Skate and while Celestino still isn’t sure he can accomplish it, Yuuri is determined.

He knows that he can medal with these two improved programs. He doesn’t know if he wants to, still unsure of the rules of time travel, but he won’t let this year end up like the original.

This time he was determined to make it right.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! So, before going on to the story, the amazing rayningnight pointed out that I have some major things wrong timing wise! Since I already wrote the story, it's kind of hard to change now. So for some clarification:
> 
> Yuuri & Viktor have both already been told that they will be skating in the GPF. This means that they have already completed their preliminary competitions (in the anime that would be Cup of China or Skate America/Skate Canada, etc. I was told that the Grand Prix series is actually only ten weeks long, but for the sake of the story, we're going to make it longer. The "8 weeks until the GPF" is just a break before they skate at the GPF, is that made sense? What I'm trying to say is that they've already completed their preliminary rounds and know they're going to the GPF! 
> 
> FOR the preliminaries, Yuri skated his old FS and SP. However, he is going to change his FS for the GPF which is where he will skate Yuri on Ice. 
> 
> Hope this helps! Excuse my non-figure skating brain. I'm learning! ( ´﹀` )
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy this chapter!

When Viktor wakes up, he is not at home. He knows exactly where his is, of course, and Yakov’s dirty guest room might’ve have been his home at one point, but it certainly wasn’t now. His home was with Yuuri, _his_ Yuuri, in their apartment with Makkachin.

Dimly, he hears Yakov shouting in angry Russian a few doors away. It takes a few seconds before the man comes and bangs on his closed door. “Get up! It’s time to go to the rink and practice.”

Viktor moves immediately, getting ready. His mind hasn’t caught up with his actions yet (why is he so tired? What happened?). He pauses, looking at some things that he definitely doesn’t remember being there last time he visited, but brushes it off. Yakov has a habit of redecorating, so he isn’t really surprised.

He quickly dresses, grabbing his skating bag—wasn’t it different yesterday? And where was Yuuri? —before heading out. Yakov would probably know the answer his questions anyways.

Yakov is waiting for him, staring him down. He looks a bit different, but Viktor can’t really place what’s wrong.

“Hey Yakov—” he doesn’t get the chance to ask his questions before he’s interrupted and pushed out the front door.

“We’re late,” the old man growls, leading him to his car. “The others are already there. They’re waiting for you, Vitya.”

“Waiting for wha—“

“Go!” Yakov definitely wasn’t in the mood to chat, so Viktor backs down. He fiddles with his phone before deciding that he’ll just text Yuuri instead. He turns it on and is about to unlock his phone when he abruptly stops. Yakov starts shouting at him again, but his words fell deaf on his ears.

For there, at the top of his screen, read October 15th 2015\. Four years in the past.

 

* * *

 

 

Viktor doesn’t know what to do, but he rolls with it. While time travel seems impossible, he has no other way to describe what was happening to him. He tries not to dwell on it and pushes himself harder than before on the rink. Yakov and the others are impressed with his new-found skill (he _has_ been working hard these last few years) and went out of their way to give him compliments that he wouldn’t normally receive.

It was fine, but Viktor wasn’t skating for them.

He was skating for Yuuri.

He didn’t know where Yuuri was right now. He’d like to think that Yuuri was here, with him in this time, just a few continents away. He knows that Yuuri won’t leave him, but sometimes he thinks that he might not have been given a choice in this situation.

Viktor tries to think of way to contact Yuuri, but nothing ever pops into his head. He can’t text or call him, he can’t send a letter and he can’t mention him in interviews. The only way he thinks he can let Yuuri know without anyone else know is through skating. Surely, if Yuuri saw him skate, then he would realize that Viktor remembered too?

The very thing that brought them together.

Viktor proposes the idea to switch his programs to Yakov with a smile on his face.

Yakov shoots down the idea immediately and gives no room for arguments.

Viktor went in a slump after that. With no way to contact Yuuri, he knew he’d have to wait until the Grand Prix Final.  Would Yuuri find him there if he remembered? He hopes so. Maybe then, they could finally talk in private.

Viktor’s heart aches. He spends his nights under the covers, yet he was never warm. Makkachin is nice and he’s glad that she’s here, but she wasn’t a replacement. She wasn’t Yuuri. He misses having Yuuri sleep next to him. He misses waking up to his face in the morning. He misses Yuuri asking if he had anything for breakfast before practice. He misses Yuuri smiling at him and playing with his hair in the early mornings. He misses the “I love yous” and “please stay”. He misses Yuuri.

He misses Yuuri _so much._

Some nights it hard to bear, but he makes it through. He watches Yuuri’s programs for this year to quell his emotions. Beautiful, but lacking. He could do so much better.

Viktor sighs. It was just to the GPF. He’d see Yuuri again there. And if Yuuri doesn’t remember him... well, then he’d start over. He wasn’t going to loose Yuuri. He wasn’t going to live his life without Yuuri.

Never again.

 

* * *

 

 

The days counting down to the Grand Prix went by faster than he expected. Yakov had high expectations for him this year and while Viktor knew he could do it, he still worried. He was worried about Yuuri.

Fortunately, he was traveling with Yura which provided a nice distraction for a while. The younger Yuri was much more brash and rude than his older counterpart, but it was nice to have some familiarity. He knew Yura didn’t mean any of his words anyways.

At the airport, they meet with the press. Viktor answers a few with a fake smile that always seems to trick the public. Yuri doesn’t answer questions at all and chooses to hide before Viktor (not that he’d ever admit) and gives the press the middle finger when he thinks Yakov isn't looking.

A journalist shoves a mic in Viktor’s face before he can protest. The journalist quickly asks, “Can you tell us what you expect during the Grand Prix Final?”

The question surprises Viktor so much that he drops his smile and stares. He thinks of Yuuri, of his own programs, of his longing to go back to his own time. He thinks of what happened in the past, of seeing Yuuri for the first time, of winning gold.

“I don’t know.” He answers honestly.

That sends the media to a frenzy, but before they can ask any more questions, Viktor rushes to his plane. He boards without another issue. Yuri is yelling at him—“What do you _mean_ you don’t know? _What the hell was that_?!”—but Viktor isn’t listening.

He stares out the window of the plane watching as the people below mingle.

 _Soon,_ he thinks. _Soon, I’ll see you again._

_Yuuri._

 

* * *

 

 

Viktor meets Chris as soon as he got the the hotel room. They catch up (well, Chris catches up. Viktor already knows all of this) and head out to a bar for fun. They don’t drink much, seeing as they both performed their Short Program tomorrow, but they have a good time.

Viktor almost forgets about Yuuri and his fears.

_Almost._

Viktor looks out for Yuuri the entire time, but doesn’t see him once. It was late by the time he retired to his hotel room. He hadn’t seen or heard from Yuuri at all, despite wandering around for hours trying to find him. He sleeps knowing that Yuuri _had_ to be at the rink tomorrow.

“Soon,” he mutters to himself, clutching his phone close. 

 

* * *

 

 

When he sees Yuuri at the rink, he thinks his heart is going to burst. Yuuri looks exactly like he did all those years ago. His face was younger, his hair was shorter but he still had that sparkle in his eyes and _god_. Viktor missed him _so_ much _. So, so much._

He wanted nothing more than to bolt over to Yuuri, but Yakov kept a tight grip around his hand and Chris flanked his other side, chatting about his programs. Viktor really doesn’t care at this point because it was Yuuri, _right there—!_

 _Why couldn’t they see that he_ needed _to see Yuuri?_

Yuuri doesn’t notice him. He was too wrapped up in his discussion with his coach. He doesn’t notice how desperately Viktor is trying to get to him. How much he misses him. How much he _needs_ him.

Before he knows it, he is swept away.

The next time he sees Yuuri is when they’re warming up. Yuuri doesn’t even glance at him and Viktor’s heart drops. _What ifs_ echo around his head. He tries to go and talk with him, but Chris keeps him by his side the entire time. Yuuri skates around them as beautiful as ever. Viktor tries to go after him, tries to call out, but he was always interrupted. It was annoying.

 _Extremely_ annoying.

Before he knows it, warm up time is done. Viktor is scheduled to go first in the Short Program, so he stays on the ice, watching as the other skaters exit. He stares longingly at Yuuri before Yakov draws his attention away.

“Do your country proud, Vitya.” Yakov tells him. “I know you will.”

 _My country is not the only thing I want to make proud,_ Viktor thinks.

He skates towards the center of the ice and takes his starting pose. He hears the gentle music of his Short Program start and Viktor does not hesitate. He throws himself into his program, displaying his emotions for all to see.

_Are you watching, Yuuri?_

He skates beautifully, just like he always has. He knows that. But that’s not why he’s skating right now. He’s skating for a single person.

He’s skating for Yuuri.

Before he knows it, his program is done. He stands in his finishing position, covered in sweat. He’s panting, but looks around in the crowd.

Yuuri is nowhere to be seen.

He’s ushered off the ice, reporters swarming him and furiously asking questions.

“Was that program based off of anyone?”

“Mr. Nikiforov! How do you feel about your performance?”

“Do you expect good scores?”

“How do you manage to land such difficult jumps?”

“Any advice for those new the the figure skating world?”

He doesn’t answer a single one.

Someone pushes him to the Kiss and Cry and Yakov sits beside him. Viktor hardly registers anything at this point. He feels numb. He’s just poured his heart out for the entire world to see. His heart aches. He’s _so_ tired of it aching. 

Yuuri wasn’t there.

His scores are said, but Viktor is not listening. He knows they’re good. He can tell by the way Yakov is smiling and the cameras are flashing. He tries for a smile, but feels dead inside. He wanted to shut down. He might’ve if he hadn’t been surrounded by people.

_Why wasn’t Yuuri watching?_

 

* * *

 

 

Viktor watches Yuuri skate his Short Program. It was the same as he’d seen in the videos. A good program, but it wasn’t the best Yuuri could do. Yuuri skates it, but doesn’t own it. He flubs some jumps and even his step sequence was a little off.

 _You always flub your jumps when you’re thinking about something,_ _Yuuri_. Viktor rests his head on his hand and stares longingly. _What are you thinking about now?_

Beside him, Yura snorts. “What a fuck up.”

“Don’t,” Viktor says and the word comes out harsher than he means it to.

Yura looks at him, angry but confused. “What the fuck is your problem? Since when do you care?”

 _Since that man stole my heart four years ago_ , Viktor thinks but does not say out loud.

Yuuri finishes his program and glides off the ice. He doesn’t look disappointed, just deep in thought. He doesn’t seem to be listening to his coach either, from where Viktor could see.

Viktor watched the next few programs—Chris’ was amazing and he knew that his friend would improve even more in the future—while the others weren’t very noteworthy. Yuri made a similar comment, though nowhere near as nice.

Yuuri’s face was always in his head. What was causing him such a distraction? Was it the same as the first time? While Viktor was curious, he never went over to ask. Something always held him back.

The ache in his heart just grew stronger.


	3. Chapter 3

Yuuri knew that he didn’t do as well as he’d hoped during his Short Program. He wasn’t disappointed (it was much better than the last time he skated it), but he still wishes that he could clear his head for more than thirty seconds.

Yuuri sees Viktor around the rink. Viktor. His husband. Yet, no matter how much his heart aches, something always held him back. His heart pounds and his head hurts. He wanted to see Viktor _so bad_. To be able to hug him, to be able to kiss him.

But he doesn’t. _Why?_

There was no denying it: Yuuri was nervous.

He didn’t know what to do. This was new and scary. He won’t know how to react if Viktor doesn’t remember him, so he reverts back to old habits and avoids him. He _knows_ this won’t solve anything. He knows what he’s doing is bad. But no matter how hard he tries, he can’t stop. He wants so badly to just rush up to Viktor and tell him _everything._

Somewhere in the back of his mind something would whisper _, don’t do it. Don’t do it. He wont remember you._

The voice wins out in the end.

 

* * *

 

 

He’s in the hotel lobby waiting for Celestino and scrolling through his phone. He has several texts from Pitchit, which he chooses to ignore until later. He checks Instagram and smiles a bit at what the other skaters have posted. He likes a few photos, but is generally content just scrolling through his feed.  

“Yuri!” Yuuri stops. He knows that voice. He knows that voice so well. He looks up, his eyes shining, only for Viktor to walk right past him with Yuri—the Russian one— at his side. He seems in an intense discussion about the young boy’s program and Yura listened, though not without his snarky comments.

The two walk over to Yakov (who looked much younger than Yuuri remember. Four years is a long time, after all). Immediately, Yakov takes over and starts speaking to Yuri. Viktor is watching with a small smile on his face.

Yuuri just stands there, staring. Not knowing what to do. Did Viktor see him? Did Viktor remember?

It was at that moment that Viktor starts to turn around. He gives a smile so wide ( _fake, fake, fake_ , Yuuri’s mind repeats) that his eyes are shut and laughs. “Commemorative photo? Sure thing!”

Something inside Yuuri broke.

And then, a feeling of ice washed over him as he realizes that the voice inside his head is right. _Viktor doesn’t remember him._

He never felt so alone.

He turns on his heel without a second though and leaves. He doesn’t know where he’s going, but he needs to leave. He _has_ to leave. He can’t be here anymore. Not in the same room. Tears are welling up in his eyes but he doesn’t let them fall. No, not yet. Not yet.

He makes it to his room before collapsing.

Viktor, his husband, doesn’t remember him. The four years they’ve know each other…all of that is gone.

He cries and cries and _cries_ until he has no more tears to give. Instead, he lays on his bed, exhausted. He can hear the dings from his phone, but ignores them. He’s pours out all of his emotions until he no longer has any more to give.

He flips on his back and holds his hand above his face. He stares at the place where his ring once was. He never thinks about how empty it feels until now. He never thinks about how lonely he feels until now.

“Damn it,” a few more tears slip out and Yuuri wipes them away. “Who would be so cruel to do this…? Why me?”

He lays there for hours. He knows that he should sleep. He has his Free Skate tomorrow, the one that he was skating for Viktor. _Yuuri on Ice_ suddenly seems like an impossible task. He doesn’t know how he’s going to relive everything and know that nothing will be the same.

He needs Viktor. He needs Viktor so badly that every bone in his body aches just thinking about it.

“The last time,” Yuuri mutters to himself. “This is the last time I’ll skate for the Viktor I left behind.”

Determination fills him. He repeats the phrase again and again and again. He has to move on; he has to be strong. Viktor wouldn’t want to see him like this. If not for himself, then for the love he was leaving.

He will skate Yuuri on Ice tomorrow and he will do so with every emotion he is capable of possessing. He will show the world what Viktor means to him. And then he will move on. It will take time and he won’t be okay for a long time to come, but he can’t dwell on what hasn’t happened.

_This is the last time I’ll skate for the Viktor I left behind._

 

* * *

 

 

Viktor doesn’t realize that Yuuri was in the lobby with him until it’s too late.

“Yuri,” He says as he walks briskly past, Yura at his heels. “Next time get more height on your triple axel; it’ll make landing easier. Also, your step sequence needs work, though it won’t be too hard to improve it, I suppose.”

“It’s better than yours,” Yuri snarks back.

Viktor just lifts one eyebrow. Both of them know that wasn’t true, but Viktor wasn’t going to start an argument. They arrive in front of Yakov and he immediately takes over on the skating lesson. Viktor is glad to let him. This Yuri doesn’t take his advice as seriously as the one in his time.

He watches as Yakov’s critique collapses into an argument and Viktor smiles. Not something fake, like he’d been giving for the past few weeks, but a genuine happy smile. He can’t help the nostalgia wash over him.

This felt like home.

His thoughts are interrupted when he feels someone starting at him. He doesn’t think twice, putting on a face smile so wide that he had to close his eyes and turns around. How many more times would the public bother him? “Commemorative photo? Sure thing!”

When he doesn’t hear a response, he turns around completely. There, walking away, was Yuuri.

_His_ Yuuri.

He watches him walk away before his brain catches up to his mouth. He tries to speak out, tries to call his name, but it was too late.

Yuuri was already gone.

Something drops in Viktor’s stomach. A feeling of cold settles over his body and he stares at the spot where his husband disappeared. He vaguely registers tears coming to his eyes. Yuuri won’t leave him if he remembered. If Yuuri remembered, he would’ve said something. Viktor longed to hear his teasing words. He wants to hear Yuuri laugh and say “A commemorative photo, Viktor? Really? I’m not just another one of your fans.”

But that never happens.

_Yuuri doesn’t remember him._

Viktor leaves after that, much to the confusion of Yura and Yakov.

“Where are you going, Vitya?” Yakov calls after him as Viktor starts walking away.

“I-I don’t know,” he hates the way his voice cracks. “My room. I’m going to my room.”

Yuri frowns at him. “What the fuck? Are you crying?”

Something inside Viktor snaps. The tears come out at full force. He covers his face and leaves before either of them can question him more. He doesn’t wait for the elevator, rushing up the stairs to his room on the twenty-fourth floor. His legs burn, but for some reason he doesn’t mind the pain. 

Everything feels broken anyways.

He makes it to the foot of his bed before his legs give way and he falls to the floor. He clutches desperately and the bedframe as sobs rack his body.

_Everything hurt._

He should expect it, really. He ran the scenarios in his head thousands of times and while he assures himself that he would move on if Yuuri didn’t remember him, he never really counts that as a legitimate situation.

He doesn’t know how he’s going to skate tomorrow. Not when it felt as if this world was crushing him. How was he supposed to skate _Stammi Vicino_ when the very person he was going to skate it for doesn’t remember?

The song was the reason Viktor found Yuuri again. The song was what played during their duet for the gala. The song was the very song that they danced to at their wedding.

Viktor chokes on another sob.

_Why did it have to turn out like this?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they need to communicate...... the boys can't rely on their skating for communications you havE TO TALK 
> 
> only one more chapter left and then this story will be complete.
> 
> for more yoi content, follow me on my tumblr blog, moorfoot


	4. Chapter 4

When Viktor gets to the rink the next morning, everyone could tell something was off. Viktor Nikiforov, four-time world champion, didn’t look much like a world champion at that moment. His hair was a mess and his eyes had bags under them. He looks as if he didn’t sleep at all.

He feels awful.

“Viktor!” Yakov was yelling at him yet again. “What the hell happened to you?” Even Chris and Yura express their concerns.

He waves them off, but his bones feel stiff. He closes his eyes and before giving them the most convincing smile he could. He wasn’t okay, and he wouldn’t be okay for a while, but he would live. He would make it through this.

 _If Yuuri doesn’t remember me then I’m going to make him remember me_.

He was not going to throw away everything he’s worked for. If Yuuri doesn’t remember, then he’ll seduce Yuuri again. He’s done it once—a second time can’t be that hard, right? He _knew_ Yuuri. He knows everything about him. He knew that he could make this work.

He would not live without Yuuri. Not without his Yuuri.

 

* * *

 

 

Yuuri stares up at the large stadium for a second too long before going inside. He takes a deep breath, weaving between the people that mingle around the backstage. Many try to come and talk to him, but Yuuri doesn’t say a word.

Even Celestino couldn’t get anything out of him. He tries and tries, but Yuuri won’t talk. He keeps his head high and stares forward.

_His last dance._

Yuuri goes to watch Viktor this time. Since Viktor was in first, he got to preform first for the Free Skate. Yuuri knew his program. He knew his program well.

Stammi Vicino.

His heart felt heavy as he watches Viktor take the ice. He looks haggard. His eyes aren’t sparkling like they should. Yuuri tilts his head, curious. This is not the expression that Viktor had when skating this program four years ago.

Yuuri wants to go out there, wants to comfort him. But Viktor was no longer his to comfort. So he sits back and watches.

The music starts and Yuuri’s breath is taken away.

Stammi Vicino is a beautiful program. He knows this more than anyone.

_Questa storia che senso non ha_

_Svanirà questa notte assieme alle stelle_

_Se potessi vederti dalla speranza nascerà l’eternita_

He closes his eyes and imagines Viktor—his Viktor—skating it. How his eyes sparkle and he laughs. Something inside Yuuri longs for that again.

_This story that makes no sense_

_Will vanish tonight along with the stars_

_If I could see you from hope eternity will be born_

He imagines skating it for Yuuko. He imagines their practices before the 2016 Grand Prix. He imagines the duet they did for the gala. He imagines dancing to the words at their wedding.

_Stammi vicino, non te ne andare_

_Ho paura di perderti_

Yuuri hums the words under his breath. He feels tears well up but reminds himself that this is not for him. This is no longer their song.

_Stay close to me, don’t go_

_I’m afraid of losing you_

Yuuri laughs under his breath. The lyrics seem so fitting now.

It seems like forever, but the music eventually stops. Yuuri opens his eyes, staring at Viktor from across the ice.

Viktor is staring back.

Yuuri stops, but before he could question what just happened, Viktor turns and skates off the ice. Something deep inside Yuuri begs him to come back, but Yuuri knows that won’t happen. He stands up and takes his skate guards off.

Celestino smiles at him. “I believe in you, Yuuri.”

 _I know,_ Yuuri wants to say but doesn’t. Instead, he says, “Thank you, Coach. I’ll make you proud.”

_This will be the last time I skate for you, Viktor._

 

* * *

 

 

_This will be the last time I cry over this, Yuuri._

Viktor receives his scores. He’s in first, almost forty points ahead of Chris who had just preformed.

“I’ll beat you next time, Viktor!” His friend gives him a smile and laughs before heading up to the stands with the rest of the skaters. For some reason, Viktor doesn’t follow him.

He goes back to the side of the rink. Yakov was looking at his phone (most likely checking the news) while Yura lounged around on one of the chairs. Viktor didn’t know why he was there, but doesn’t question it.

He leans against the railway and waits. It was Yuuri’s turn.

This will be the last time he sees Yuuri skate before he starts over.

Viktor can almost hear Yuuri’s voice. _Don’t you dare take your eyes off me._

As if he could.

Yuuri skates twice around the rink before heading to the center. He strikes a pose that was eerily familiar—

The music starts.

He knows that song. He knows that song _so well._

He can hear the mutters of the crowds. Even Yakov seemed confused. This was not the program that Yuuri had preformed in the qualifying rounds. Whispers fired up in the stands as Yuuri continued to dance to the hauntingly familiar tune.

“Viktor?” Yura’s voice breaks through. “Why the hell are you crying again?”

Viktor reaches up to touch his face, only for his fingers to come back wet. Not once does he take his eyes off of Yuuri.

“I know he’s good,” Yura grudgingly admits even though he’s not just _good_. He’s skating it _flawlessly._ “But is it really—”

Viktor is gone before Yuuri can even finish the sentence.

“What the _fuck_?! What are you going, old man?!”

Joy. Suddenly there is _so much_ joy that he can’t contain it. He is ecstatic. He wants to shout.  To sing his love to the world. To run. To laugh. To kiss his damn husband’s face for making him worry so much—

Because he _remembers. His husband remembers him_.

Viktor is sprinting at this point, dodging people left and right. He doesn’t care. He has to get to Yuuri. He has to be there. He has to let him know.

_He remembers._

 

* * *

 

 

 Yuuri thinks about his life as he skates. He lets the memories take over and he basks in them. He feels everything. Every touch, every kiss, every hug. Every time he laughs, he cries. His heart sings with every praise and crumbles with every scold.

 _Four years is a long time,_ he thinks.

He hardly realizes that he’s still dancing on the ice until after he lands his quad flip perfectly. He can feel the music drawing to a close, and with it, everything else. He takes a deep breath and he skates the last bit, but he knows he’s already prepared.

_Goodbye, Viktor._

He finishes in his position, pointing at where he thinks Viktor is, only to realize that he was no longer there. He was no longer watching.

He almost lets himself feel pity before a voice calls out, “ _Yuuri_!”

His voice. Viktor’s voice. Yuuri turns around, confused. Why is he hearing Viktor’s voice? He focuses on the rink exit and his heart stops.

Viktor is there. Standing with his arms open, crying.

“Yuuri!” Viktor calls again and this time Yuuri can hear the raw emotion in his voice. Viktor has been hurting just as much as he had.

_He remembers._

Yuuri doesn’t hesitate. He skates over to the exit as fast as he could.

He hears the whispers. He hears the shouts. He doesn’t care.

Viktor meets him half-way, just like always. They both go tumbling to the ice.

The chatter from the stadium roars as Viktor kisses him. Again and again _and again._ Whispers of _I love you_ in between each kiss.

Yuuri can only laugh and cry. Nothing else felt so _right._

Viktor stops long enough for them to stare into each other’s eyes. “I love you.” He whispers.

“I love you too,” Yuuri tells him.

“Never leave me again,” Viktor chokes up a little and all Yuuri can do is pull him close.

“Never again.”

 Yuuri kisses him. Electricity runs through their bodies and suddenly there is _so much_ white. It’s blinding. Forces his eyes to close and holds Viktor close before both are engulfed in the warm light.

And when they wake up, they’re home.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okaY so thank you guys for all your support on this story!! Hope you all liked it! 
> 
> I know the ending is going to be pretty disappointing to some but hear me out:  
> 1\. I'm lazy  
> 2\. At least I finished it 
> 
> I wrote this story all in one go and started fading at 12 am, so I finished it. I really only wanted to write the last chapter anyways, so that was like the climax of the story. The boys are back in their time and are safe 10/10 they can be happy now 
> 
> Also here's where my non-figure skating brain bites me in the ass again because TECHNICALLY Yuuri would skate first but no. I want angsty Viktor skating even though yUURI WASNT EVEN WATCHING. Fan fictions, anything goes, right? 
> 
> If anyone wants to know where the title came from... It's from my favorite poem. It's called "Praise the Mutilated World". The title is actually half finished because the whole line is "and the gentle light that strays and vanishes   
> and returns"  
> Love that poem so much 10/10 would recommend 
> 
> Anyways, hope you all enjoyed this story!! Thank you for all your support! And if you want more yoi content, feel free to follow me on my yoi tumblr blog: http://moorfoot.tumblr.com ( ´﹀` )


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